


Here We Are

by SeithSpinner



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeithSpinner/pseuds/SeithSpinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John visits Sherlock's grave and has a few words to say. (Response to a prompt based on the Silversun pickups song of the same name)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here We Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [johnwatsonismyspiritanimal.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=johnwatsonismyspiritanimal.tumblr.com).



The sun was bright that day, for the first time in months. It was because of this fresh air, and sunny weather that John had found himself walking aimlessly. Somewhere in the depths of his heart there was an aim that it had seen fit not to make the rest of him aware of until he stood there at the arch of black stone. 

“Uh… Well, I guess Hello.” He said, licking his lips, shifting off of his leg subconsciously. “I … it’s been a while. I … I’m sorry but I had Molly come for the toes. I couldn’t have them in the freezer any longer, and… well, I suppose the experiment’s over, isn’t it?” 

He huffed, the weight of that sentence hitting him squarely in the center of his chest, and the doctor felt that it might be a good idea to sit down. “Isn’t it, Sherlock? It’s over.” His lips pursed and he nodded to himself. “And… I’m too stupid to get it. Because I keep seeing you bloody everywhere. No, no… I know that’s what you’d say and I am; too stupid. ‘Sentiment, John’ – you’d say it, and turn up your damn collar. But I know, you git.”

A shadow moved beneath the trees, it was an old man in a tweed coat lovingly picking bits of leaf from a grave three rows down. His hand seemed to still, clearly eavesdropping on John but being far too polite to let him know. 

“See, I’m not that stupid. I don’t know if it was being around you that made me think of it at all, but I started to put it together. I got your name back, and I … I believe in you. Always have, always will. And I hate you for that, you know. My-“ his voice cracked, he cleared his throat. “Mycroft cracked into your phone… and… I know. Why. And I miss you, and your cheekbones.”

The old man was doing his best to ignore the confessions going on down the way, as he tried in vain to read to his long-departed wife, but even from the corner of his eye John saw how uncomfortable the other mourner was. 

“And at least I understand why I lost you before I had the chance to –“ his voice cracked again, stuttering out entirely. “t-… t-…” he sniffed hard, and cleared his throat more loudly than he would’ve preferred. “To …God, if I can’t say it now… to get you into my bed, because I wanted you there, you know. You had to know. Probably knew before I did. Maybe that’s what all those date jokes were about?” He chuckled quietly to himself, his voice shaping into a tone of realization “And I… didn’t get it, because I’m stupid. God I’m stupid, Sherlock.” 

John’s hand slipped into his pocket and drew out a pack of cigarettes. He thumped it against the palm of his hand a few times before splitting the cello wrap and pulling out a single stick with his lips. He lit it and drew on it once, just to get it well started before he placed it on the edge of the headstone. 

“Have one on me, mate. It’s not like you’ve got your health to worry about.” He said, pulling himself up with a grunt. He patted the stone twice. “And I know I say this every time, Sherlock… but please, don’t be dead.” He turned and walked away, the scent of tobacco swirled around him for a moment and the narrow path in the cemetery crunched under his feet. He did his best not to cry, limping his way slowly toward the road. As he neared the gate a hard gust of wind caught John by surprise and he suddenly thought better of leaving a burning cigarette there. 

He jogged back toward Sherlock’s grave, but found no trace of the cigarette, and when he glanced around, the elderly mourner was gone as well.


End file.
